


Cruelty and Clemency

by hunteriheroici (spacebarista)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 21:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/753495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebarista/pseuds/hunteriheroici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Dean Winchester had seen much in his relatively short life, and he was pretty sure he had a good idea of right and wrong. Until he met the outlaw Bela Talbot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cruelty and Clemency

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I'd been listening to too much of The Silent Comedy and watching too much of The Men Who Built America and I was in the mood for a Western AU featuring one of my favorite could-have-been pairings. And so I give you this brain child.

  
_"Oh, I’m speaking your impossible name."_  
\- The Silent Comedy, "Impossible Name"

The glaring sun usually kept people inside for a good part of the day. Today was no different. Even the sheriff stuck to the shadows, vigilantly keeping watch from a chair in the shade of the porch. Well, “vigilantly” was up to interpretation. His hat was tipped over his eyes, hiding his face from passerby. His arms were crossed loosely over his chest, and his legs were stretched out and crossed at the knee. Some could say he was the picture of relaxation. Which some could say was the opposite of vigilant.

Beneath the brim of his tipped hat, Sheriff Dean Winchester was taking a cat nap. Some punk kids in the town had kept him up all night watching for a coyote that didn’t exist. By the time he finally figured that out, the sun was beginning to rise, and he didn’t think he could hit the broadside of a barn. He’d gone to sleep in one of the cells for a few hours, and after he got up and washed his face, he had a hot cup of coffee. But it didn’t stop him from drifting off in the quiet of the early afternoon.

It was his brother who found him like that. Sam Winchester, one of three lawyers in 50 miles. He’d gone to school, much to his brother’s chagrin, back in the northeast for a good long time. His longtime sweetheart, Jessica Moore, had supported him enough to make up for Dean’s lackluster enthusiasm. But when Sam returned to their dusty little town, Dean was beyond thrilled. Sam guessed it was because Dean missed torturing him. He’d be about a quarter right.

Sam studied his snoozing brother. He had the beginnings of a beard, which wasn’t unusual for Dean. He had to look gruff and tough to intimidate outlaws, while Sam had to look professional and smart to assure his clients. The men were two sides of the same coin. Both cared about justice, but went about it different ways. And they worked like clockwork: capture and prosecute. The Winchesters were a force to be reckoned with. But today they seemed like more of a small dust storm, with the strength of their duo fast asleep out in public. Sam intended to fix that.

He leaned closer to his brother’s ear, with the intention to scream something in it, but once he laid his hand on his brother’s arm, he didn’t need to. Dean snapped to attention, gun in hand. In a split second, he had one hand gripping at Sam’s collar and another pointing his pistol between Sam’s eyes. When the sleep had finally cleared, and Dean finally realized just who he was attacking, his eyes widened.

“Sam?”

“Morning, brother. Or should I say afternoon?”

Dean released his brother, blinking away the dregs of sleep as he took in where they were. “Afternoon?” He rocked to his feet, stumbling to the porch rail to get a look at the town hall clock. “It was eleven only...” Sure enough, it was close to two. “Christ...” He holstered his gun and turned to his brother, who was straightening his shirt and tie. “Sorry... for...” He waved his hand in Sam’s direction. 

Sam got the message. “It’s all right, Dean. Should have known better than to startle you.” He sighed and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. “Late night?”

Dean shrugged, rubbing his eyes, then his scruff. “A bit. Ben, Jesse, Claire, and Todd decided it would be funny to tell the mean ole sheriff that there was a nasty coyote outside of town. When there wasn’t.” Dean walked past Sam back into the station, waving for him to follow. He stooped to pick up his hat, which fell when he was rudely awoken. “I was up all night watching for him. Didn’t get to lie down till sun up.” He flopped into the slightly more comfortable chair behind his desk, tossing his hat onto the desk, while Sam sat in the chair in front. “Slept in Rufus’ cell.” They referred to it as such because Rufus Turner, a disturber of the peace, always ended up in it. Luckily for Dean, he hadn’t had to arrest the older man and he got a place to sleep.

“You really should ask around before listening to a bunch of kids, Dean,” Sam admonished. Though Dean was older, Sam was oftentimes the more mature brother. It may have had to do with Sam’s schooling, or his engagement to Miss Moore, or his very professional job. But Sam always seemed to be more reasonable. But Dean was a good man. He just chose to hide how good behind a facade of arrogance. “It may have saved you time and earned you a full night’s rest.”

“We both know the ‘full night’s rest’ is questionable, Sam. But I agree, looking back on it.” Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes again to avoid Sam’s sympathetic gaze. “But it happened, and I am left with the consequences.” He let his hands fall into his lap. “So what brings you to my office?”

Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bit of paper. “I got a telegram from the next town over. Seems we’re to expect another telegram within two hours about someone on the run from St. Louis.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “St. Louis?” He held a hand out for the paper and Sam obliged him. He read the short message to see for himself.

“Yes, sir.”

“And this was just a telegram to inform you of the telegram?”

Sam let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. They’re still gathering information. Seems whoever it is is very elusive.” Dean hummed in consideration. He started to say something, but was cut off by a big yawn. Sam let out a real laugh. “You really are tired, aren’t you?” He snatched the telegram from him and stood. “Go home, Dean. We still have at least an hour until the next telegram comes in. Lie down, change, shave, whatever you need to do.”

Dean looked up at his brother. “What about the-”

“I’ll watch the station. I’m just as capable with a pistol as you are. I’ll send someone for you when the telegram comes in. Go on.”

Dean tried to intimidate his brother with a hard stare. When Sam didn’t cave, he sighed and nodded. “All right. Fine. I’ll go.” He grabbed his hat and stood, moving to get his coat off the coat stand. “I’m holding you to your word,” he threatened, pulling his coat on and setting his hat back on his head. He turned back to his brother. “Send the fastest person you can find.” He emphasized his words by pointing his trigger finger, eliciting a smile and a nod from Sam. Dean nodded as well, more of a jerk of the head, and turned on his heel, heading back out into the afternoon sun to get his horse and head home.

~*^*~

Dean collapsed into bed soon after changing. He didn’t care if he was a bit rumpled when he got back to the station. And he didn’t bother shaving, either. He didn’t need to look professional. The more time he spent in bed, the better. It took him mere moments to fall asleep. 

He regretted doing so almost instantly. Images of fire and blood flitted through his mind. He heard screaming and moaning, horses whinnying and artillery exploding. It was smoke and fear and pain and he just wanted out. But not yet. He couldn’t leave yet. They were almost done.

Loud knocking jolted him out of his sleep. He sat up, gasping for air as he looked over his spartan bedroom, assuring himself that he was safe and home and not in the world of his dreams. He was home.

“Dean! Dean, it’s Jo! Open up!”

Dean groaned and rolled out of bed, shuffling from his room and through the large front room of his small home to the front door. He yanked it open mid-knock, causing Jo Harvelle’s fist to brush against his slightly rumpled shirt. She cleared her throat as she snapped her hand back, Dean glaring at her.

“What is it, Jo?”

The windswept blonde cleared her throat again before answering. “Sam sent me to get you. He says the telegram from the St. Louis authorities has come in.” She took in his sleep-rumpled clothes and his haggard look. “Are you okay? Having trouble sleeping again?”

“No,” he lied. “The kids played a prank on me last night. Didn’t get to sleep long.” Dean sighed and waved her in. “Might as well come have a seat. I have to get my boots back on.”

Dean and Jo had made their way back into the heart of town as quickly as they could. It had taken Dean longer than he would have liked to get ready, but he was still drowsy and rumpled from sleep. Once he was out of his house and on the back of his black mare, Impala, he started to wake up. Jo saw him as far as the station, then returned to the Roadhouse Saloon, where she worked with her mother. Dean tied Impala to the post outside the station and hurried in to find his brother, the Mayor Bobby Singer, and Garth, the manager of the telegraph office all standing around his desk, studying a paper that must have been the telegram in silence. He noticed them giving each other odd looks over the thing. Whatever it was, it didn’t look good.

“All right, I’m here,” he announced, placing his hat and coat on the stand and heading towards the three men. “What have we got?”

Bobby sighed and rubbed his beard. “Take a look for yourself, Sheriff.” He picked up the stiff paper and held it out to him. Dean took it hesitantly, and glanced down to read it.

“Description in STOP Authorities are seeking thief of jewel belonging to Mr Fergus Rodric McLeod STOP Also wanted for breach of contract and assault STOP Authorities and McLeod willing to negotiate punishment STOP English with brown hair and green eyes STOP Last seen in black and red dress STOP Name is Bela Talbot STOP Considered armed and dangerous STOP”

“ _Bela_ Talbot?” Dean looked at the three men in surprise. Only Sam met his gaze. “The outlaw is a _woman_?”

His brother rubbed his eyes. “So it seems,” he sighed. “I’m surprised. I’ve heard of Mr. McLeod. It’s rare that anyone breaks a contract with him. Especially a woman.”

Dean hadn’t heard of the guy. But hearing that made him understand what kind of man he was and why he would report this Bela woman. “Is St. Louis sending anyone?”

Garth nodded. “They’ve mailed a sketch to us, and some coppers and Mr. McLeod will be here by the middle of next week,” he confirmed. “Give or take a few days.”

“Well,” Dean sighed, tossing the telegram back down on his desk and looking between the men. “Looks like we’ve got a week to catch a woman. This’ll be interesting.”


End file.
